


Blackbird

by pressedpeachpits



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Memories, One-Sided Relationship, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedpeachpits/pseuds/pressedpeachpits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry looks back on his relationship with Louis, and how he should have known all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackbird

_ Blackbird singing in the dead of night _

_ Take these broken wings and learn to fly _

_ All your life _

_ You were only waiting for this moment to arise _

 

_ Blackbird singing in the dead of night _

_ Take these sunken eyes and learn to see _

_ All your life _

_ You were only waiting for this moment to be free _

 

Heartbreak isn’t always the way it is in the movies. It isn’t always smashing plates and sobbing until you lose your voice. It isn’t always shoveling rocky road ice cream into your mouth and laying your head on your friend’s lap while they play video games and keep you company. Sometimes, though, sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s all that and then some, “some” meaning an empty feeling in your chest that keeps you from eating or breathing or even being able to talk. That’s what it was for me anyway.

I guess I knew from the first moment we kissed that he’d break my heart. It’s not like I was the most gorgeous or popular guy around, and the fact that he’d only tell a few of our friends was a foreshadowing I always ignored. He made me feel special, though. The way he would secretly brush his hand against mine when we were in public, or give me a shy smile over his coffee cup when someone asked him why he didn’t have a girlfriend yet. I felt like his world, and he damn sure was mine.

I’ll never forget how it felt after each show when he would push me into the rising framework and kiss me roughly, the adrenaline of thousands of screaming fans finally bursting out of him. “Harry,” he would pant, “I love you. We did it. They love us,” and then smash his lips back against mine. I loved kissing him… or maybe I still love it. I don’t really know, it hasn’t happened in so long. Kissing him always brought me to another world, where all that existed was us and the taste of his tongue. No matter how out of breath he was from performing, he never hesitated to kiss me senseless.

We didn’t have sex for a long time. Maybe we were scared of making it into something real, or at least he was, or maybe it was just that we cared too much for each other. But I remember it fondly nonetheless. He was shaking all over and I had to wrap him tightly in my arms. “Lou, are you sure you’re ready? We don’t have to do this,” I had whispered into his hair, but he was never one to back down. “I want to… want you… so bad…” he whimpered, pressing himself against me. I felt so terrible hurting my Louis, spreading him and pushing into him. He made little sounds of pain for a while, but only a while, because soon they were replaced with my name and begs of me not to stop, “or else.”

It was very much the same the second, third, fourth, and, yes, fifth time. He could never get used to it, and I think maybe he detested it when I was inside him and make him moan my name (along with several other obscenities). I realize now it was because he was ashamed. Not only was he secretly dating a guy, but he wasn’t even the “man” in the relationship. The first time he asked to be on top he was once again shaking. Not only physically, but verbally too. “Um, Harry…” he had started, biting his lower lip that I  _ so desperately _ wanted to kiss, “Do you think that— well, that I, er, could maybe… Oh, I don’t know…” By the time he finally spit it out, his face was flushed pink and I couldn’t help but laugh.

I understood a lot that first time. It wasn’t that I hadn’t been in that situation before, it was that I hadn't with someone I loved before. The painful beginning didn’t annoy me like it had with other people, it just made me want him more; deeper, closer, and with more kisses. I loved it. I love  _ him _ . So much, in fact, that it happened three more times just that day, and each time I thanked the Heavens that we were alone in the bus. It was never the same after that, though. I think that’s when he started to fall out of love with me.

It really sucked having to set an alarm for 5 in the morning just so I could sneak out of the bus and back into the hotel so no one knew I’d spent the night with him in my arms.

I don’t know what I thought would happen. I knew we would never become public. I knew we’d never move into an apartment together and fill it up with loving memories and dinner parties. I knew we’d never go to dinner one night, just to be surprised when he got down on one knee and opened a velvety black box. I knew we’d never get a nice house and settle down with two dogs and a comfortable future. But I hoped every single day that it would happen.

We had had a good day, a fantastic day. Louis made me breakfast in bed and after lots of kisses and forgotten pancakes on the bedside table, he was under me with his legs over my shoulders and his eyes squeezed shut as he whispered over and over, “I love you, Harry,” and “Please, yes, just fuck me.” We’d gone shopping and sat quietly at lunch; him grazing through a magazine, and me watching him with heart eyes. It felt like we were just two guys on a date, in love, just normal people going about our day. But, of course, we weren’t; we never had been. That night we went to a small bar and had our fair share of alcohol. I remember a blur of needy kisses, both in the bar and the backseat of a cab, and the bright lights of a tattoo parlor that had seen its days many years prior. Loud moans poured from my mouth later, just before bed, as he showed me his love for the last time.

The next morning I awoke to Louis with his head in his heads, sitting on the edge of the bed. A new tattoo graced his arm. He turned to me with hard-set eyes and croaked out, “We can’t— well…” a pause, “I can’t do this anymore.” After two hours of screaming, crying, and a broken alarm clock, he left.  I did everything they do in the movies; I ate ice cream, I sobbed my eyes out, and I lay around with Zayn until I felt okay enough to actually join in on the video games. But first I rolled over.

I lifted up my arm and looked down at the stinging birdcage.

**Author's Note:**

> not my first fic (definitely not), but my first 1d fic. i really hope you enjoyed it! let me know what you think :-)


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